


Turned to Dust

by marvelfics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Infinity War, Sad Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelfics/pseuds/marvelfics
Summary: After the snap, Peter acts like everything is normal. All it takes is a few words for him to realize that it isn't.
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Turned to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've ever posted! If you have any tips that would be great!  
Thank you so much for reading!

“Alright,” Betty said, clearing her throat a bit. “Peter, Cindy, next question.”

I readied my hand near the bell. Cindy did the same. 

Betty picked up the card. “What artifact from 1928 designed by the Cartier House was never found?” 

Cindy’s hand hit the bell quickly, before I even came close to the answer. “The Patiala Necklace,” she said confidently. “It would have been worth 20 to 30 million dollars, but it disappeared…like it turned to dust.”

A silence hushed over the room. I felt my stomach drop in my chest. All of a sudden I couldn’t breathe. I had been pushing the memories away for weeks, but it all rushed back at the words. I felt bile climbing up my throat. My lip trembled. I hopped up from the chair so fast it tipped backwards. 

“I g-gotta go to t-the bathroom,” I stammered, bolting from the room. Gasping for air, I raced down the hallway into the bathroom and flung myself into a stall. I barely reached the toilet before I threw up, hot sick dripping down my chin. I tried to calm down, but I couldn’t catch my breath. 

I curled up, mind going a mile a minute. I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying. A ringing noise sounded through my ears. Tears slid down my cheeks and I dropped my head onto my knees, my sobs filling the bathroom. I tried to breathe, but only ended up coughing and heaving. 

My whole body shook with dread. I was dimly aware of someone knocking on the door. “Peter?” The familiar voice pulled me back. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. I’m gonna die. “Peter?” the voice repeated. It sounded muffled to my ears. Ned. He reached my stall. “Um, you okay if I get closer?” he asked. I opened my mouth to answer but no sound came out. He crouched down in the stall doorway.

“Can you breathe for me Peter?” Ned asked gently. I was trying, but failing miserably. Each breath caught in my throat before it could reach my lungs. A tear leaked down my face. I lifted my hand up to wipe it away and gasped. My hand was disintegrating, just like on Titan. Flakes of skin fell, and floated away. It’s happening all over again. I’m dying. I cried out, desperate for help. 

“What’s wrong?” Ned’s voice was shrill.

“I’m disintegrating,” I choked out. “Don’t you see it?” I held up my trembling hands. They were turning to dust right in front of me. “It’s happening again. I’m dying.” 

“No, Peter, you’re not,” Ned insisted. “You’re right here.” 

How could he not understand? How could he not see it? I raked my hands through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories that kept pulsing. A wave of nausea hit, and I doubled over, vomiting into the toilet again. 

“Aw jeez,” Ned sighed, voice thick with pity. He scooted closer as I gagged, patting me on the back gingerly. I heaved again and spit bile into the bowl. “It’s okay, Peter,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

I sniffed and hiccupped, leaning my back against the stall. “Breathe,” Ned said softly. “In and out.” I did as he said, trying to slow my racing heart. “That’s good, Peter,” he praised. 

After what felt like hours, I felt okay again. Shaky, exhausted, but okay. Ned hopped up, turned the sink on, and returned with a wet paper towel. I took it gladly and rubbed the residual vomit from my face. 

“Sorry you missed practice,” I said, voice scratchy. 

“It’s all good. It was pretty boring anyway.” We sat in silence for a minute, nothing but the sound of my occasional sniff. 

“Thanks Ned,” I croaked. He gave a small smile.

“Any time dude. Any time.”


End file.
